Chicago

Chapter 28

Not a day passed without Tariq Haseeb dipping into the spring of happiness. He would finish his studying, take a hot bath, and as soon as he looked at his naked body in the mirror and imagined what he would do in a few moments, his desire would blaze. He would comb his hair from right to left to hide his baldness then spray some expensive Pino Silvestre cologne on his neck and upper chest. Then he would bolt out of his apartment, take the elevator to Shaymaa’s apartment, ring the bell, and she would open the door so quickly he would think she had been waiting for him behind it. He would rush to her, embrace her, and shower her with kisses. She would whisper in a soft, chiding voice, “Enough, Tariq.”

“No.”

“Do we have to meet every day?”

“Of course.”

“Isn’t what we do on Saturday enough?”

“I want you every minute.”

“We have to watch it. Finals are approaching.”

“This time we will do better on the tests than before.”

“God willing.”

The daily love encounter didn’t last more than half an hour. Tariq called it “the quick salute to love,” after which he would return to his apartment, take another bath, and sleep like a baby. On Saturdays, the “salute” was not quick; they lived like a real couple. They did their shopping for the week, then went to the movies, then went back to Shaymaa’s apartment, where he would put on the pajamas that he had left there especially. He would get to the bed before her and watch television until she finished her bath. He would feel breathless with desire when he saw her approaching slowly, her face rosy from the hot water. In bed she would take off all her clothes except her panties (which they agreed to consider a red line that should never be crossed under any circumstances). She would cleave to him as a wife anxious to please her husband. When they were done with their peculiar way of lovemaking, they would have an affectionate, pleasant, comfortable conversation during which they didn’t feel the passage of time. Sometimes they spent the whole day in bed, sleeping naked, with her panties on — the red line, of course — in each other’s arms, and then they would wake up, eat, and drink tea and make love more than once.

At the beginning Shaymaa was assailed several times by heavy pangs of conscience. Her prayers became irregular, then she stopped performing them entirely. She had frightening nightmares. Her father appeared to her more than once yelling at her then giving her sound beatings while her mother, in the background, cried in agony but could do nothing to protect her from the beating. Gradually she reached a comforting logical resolution. She went to the Arabic section at the Chicago Public Library and verified the noble hadiths that Tariq spoke of. She found them in al-Bukhari. The canonical punishment was for zina only: what did zina mean? “The flesh entering the flesh like the kohl applicator entering the kohl jar.” There was an authenticated story about a man who had committed zina and he went to the Prophet, peace be upon him, to apply the penalty of the canon law on him. The Prophet, out of mercy on him, pretended not to pay attention; perhaps the man would think it through or run away, but the man insisted that the Prophet punish him. The Prophet then asked him: “Have you actually committed zina? Perhaps you just kissed, touched, or your thighs touched.” So all of those were degrees of sexual contact that fell short of zina and there were no canonical punishments for them, but God forgave whomever he willed.

So she was not committing zina with Tariq, and they both had great hopes for God’s forgiveness because he knew their sincere intention to get married. If they could get married right now they wouldn’t hesitate for a moment. But what could they do? They couldn’t marry in Chicago without the families’ approval, and at the same time they couldn’t interrupt their scholarships. They would get married on the first trip that the scholarships’ conditions allow, in two years. Tariq would have his PhD and she would be entitled to a midscholarship furlough. She made him swear on the Holy Qur’an that they would write the marriage contract as soon as they arrived in Egypt. She even made him repeat after her a formula that she improvised: “I marry you, Shaymaa, before God and in the manner sanctioned by the Prophet’s practice and I will conclude the contract with you as soon as we arrive in Egypt and God is my witness.” Thus she was reassured; nightmares no longer oppressed her and she resumed performing her prayers. Now she was a full-fledged legally married wife (except for the red line). The only thing lacking was registering the marriage. And, by the way, registration procedures were not prescribed by the principal legal edicts of Islam; rather, they were a necessity imposed by governments only recently. During the days of the Prophet, peace be upon him, marriage vows were oral: the man and woman said a few words whereupon they were married before God Almighty. And this was exactly what she had done with Tariq. She convinced herself that she was his wife before God and in the manner sanctioned by the Prophet’s practice, and began to read about the duties of a Muslim wife toward her husband in religious books and tried to fulfill them: to protect his honor and property, to cherish him in his presence and absence, and to provide him with comfort and safe refuge.

As for Tariq, his life was turned upside down. It was as if he had discovered a treasure. All this pleasure? All this happiness? Now he could understand the crimes he read about in the newspapers: a man stealing or killing to keep the woman he loved. At one point that pleasure became more important than life itself. How much he regretted not knowing of it earlier. For thirty-five years he’d lived a harsh, hermetic existence, like a hungry man trying to fill himself by imagining food. Now he was a new person; he was different. He no longer resented the world. He no longer treated others provocatively, ready to fight at any moment. He’d become so calm and contented that his face looked different. “I swear by God Almighty that it now looks different,” he would say as he examined his face in the mirror. His complexion looked fresh and clean, his bulging eyes became less so, and his muscles no longer contracted and his mouth did not become crooked when he spoke. More surprising, he was no longer fond of pornographic movies. Even wrestling matches, which he had loved watching ever since he was a child, he rarely desired to watch anymore. The wellbeing that he felt as he surrendered his body to the hot shower after lovemaking could not be described in words. But did he really intend to marry Shaymaa? That was a difficult question that no one, not even Tariq himself, could definitively answer. He was passionately in love with her. He had once read that a man could test his real feelings for a woman after he had slept with her: if he got bored and wanted to leave her company soon after achieving his pleasure, that meant that he didn’t love her and vice versa. And Tariq could never get his fill of Shaymaa. He clung to her in bed. In her bosom he felt so serene, as if she were his mother. Sometimes he became so full of longing that he kissed every part of her body, licked it, wished he could devour it. His relationship with her then was not one of mere lust that he satisfied. He loved her and missed her very much all day long. But did that mean that he would marry her? The answer was an incomprehensible mumbling. He had promised to marry her and had repeated her vow to that intent. He had assured her a thousand times that he still respected her and that he was sure he was to be her first and last man. Had he done that out of conviction or pity, or (oh what an evil thought!) had he gone with her as far as he had from the beginning knowing that by so doing he was excluding her for good from any possibility of marriage? Could it be that, when he felt he was getting attached to her, he had deliberately had sex with her to undermine the thought of marrying her? He didn’t know the answer and did not dwell on it long. Why should he ruin his happiness with unsettling thoughts? Why was he in a hurry to worry? He had two years to face up to the decision. So let him dip into the spring of happiness, then let come what may. That was what he told himself, thereby achieving peace of mind and several months, the sweetest of his life, in heaven.

When did happiness last, and for whom? Yesterday, at about

3:00 p. m., Tariq finished reviewing samples of his research as usual, closed his office, and got ready to leave. But he was surprised to see Dr. Bill Friedman, chairman of the department, standing in front of him. He greeted him with a nod and said in a serious tone of voice, “I’ve come to see you, Tariq. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, come with me then.”